The Experiment
by aphelant
Summary: Trip can't accept T'Pol's cry of 'experiment' and is determined to prove that she craves him as much as he craves her. But will she give in, or will Trip's ego be crushed? (spoilers up to and including s3's 'Harbinger') NC-17 version available at my site.
1. Chapter One

3 days.

2 days, 23 hours and 19 minutes, to be exact. And counting.

3 days since I was thanked for participating in an 'experiment'.

Experiment my ass.

It was no goddamn experiment, no matter what she tries to tell herself. 'I've been wondering about human sexuality', she says. So why not experiment with Malcolm? Mayweather?

It wasn't an experiment.

I know because I was there. I felt it. I felt the passion and the hunger. In myself and in her.

In T'Pol.

* * *

3 days, 7 hours and 34 minutes.

I didn't sleep again last night because I haven't gone back to her for neuro-pressure therapy. That's right! I am forsaking the only thing since warm milk and Mom's lullabies to knock me out like a baby.

You know why?

* * *

Here she comes! Oh, here she comes. Here she comes, here she comes…

"Commander Tucker?"

Look nonchalant. Yeah, that's right, glance up, glance down, act disinterested.

"What can I do for you Subcommander?"

She leaned on the railing, one hand curling around it, the other holding a PADD out to me. Before 'the experiment', he never realized how sexy she looks when she does that.

"The Captain sent me down with some figures. He wants to know if these Xindi enhancements can be made to our systems."

T'Pol watched him carefully as Trip continued to fiddle with the control panel. Wide open, wires hanging out, it looked to her like he was considerably busy.

She dropped her raised arm to her side.

"May I be of assistance?" she asked. 'Ever the polite one,' he thought, but shook his head.

"Nah, I think I've almost got it."

Red wire's connected to the - flashing button. Blue wire's connected to the - com panel. The green wire's connected to the - um, to the…

Fzzt!!

"Damn it!"

If Vulcans rolled their eyes, T'Pol would have done so. Instead, she placed the PADD on a nearby ledge and ducked under the railing, sidling up to Trip and taking his hand in her own.

"It looks like you've received only first degree burns, but you should visit Dr. Phlox to be certain."

He pulled his hand back, cradling it to his chest and glaring at her petulantly. Add a pout and a sniffle and he'd be a regular five-year-old.

"May I ask what you were doing that required dermal injury?"

Gesturing at the panel he said, "It's been doing this…_bzzzt-der-bzzzt_…"

T'Pol glanced at the panel then back at him, expression unchanging. At first he'd hated how unemotional she seemed, never getting angry or upset or happy…but eventually Trip came to understand it was her defence mechanism against losing control of her emotions, heightened beyond human conception as they were.

Of course, the extra time he'd been spending with her, both in her quarters after hours learning neuro-pressure and working together getting the ship protected from the anomalies in the Expanse, had resulted in his ability to read her moods through the subtle inflections of her voice and the stiffness of her posture.

Right now, it seemed to him, she wasn't as unconcerned as she would appear to others. He knew she was worried about his burnt hand and that he currently held her undivided attention.

"…and everyone's been complainin' 'bout it, and then it was driving me nuts, so I decided to, I dunno, get in there and tear it off the wall if I had to." He grimaced. "But it bit me first."

"I'm sure the panel did not electrocute you on purpose, Commander. Now, why don't I take a look at it and see if I can -"

"Ohhhh, no," Trip interrupted, stepping between T'Pol and the control panel as she advanced on it, "I have a deep grudge against this little piece of circuitry that I intend to resolve."

She raised an eyebrow at him, a perfectly shaped, beautifully symmetrical eyebrow, that caused him to suppress a groan. Not to be outdone, he smirked at her, a smirk which grew more cocky as she looked away and tried to focus on anything other than him.

"I figured out that it's a loose wire in there, probably shaken up by our last exciting encounter with the Expanse. It won't take me long to fix now that I know what I'm doing." He reluctantly turned his gaze from T'Pol and set to work fiddling with the panel again.

Now that he was looking away, she once again returned her gaze to him. "Do you want me to have Dr. Phlox come down to engineering in case the control panel 'bites' you again? We wouldn't want our Chief Engineer to be killed by rampaging machinery, now would we?"

He laughed. "I think you've been spending too much time with me, Sub-Commander. You've developed a sense of humour as twisted as mine!"

Really, he was pleased. It had been a shock to him the first time she had attempted to joke with him, but ever since he'd been working on drawing out that long-suppressed joviality buried deep inside her. Apparently, his efforts were bearing fruit.

Glancing up at her, he saw that she was leaning comfortably against the wall, looking down at him, a smile dancing in her eyes. The old poets and philosophers of times past had always said that the eyes were the windows into the soul - it wasn't until he'd met this beautiful Vulcan that he finally believed it.

The playfulness he saw there slowly turned serious. "I haven't seen much of you lately, Commander. Have you not required neuro-pressure to help you sleep?"

Finally! I thought she was never gonna ask.

"You know, I've been sleeping pretty well lately. I don't think I need it anymore. Thanks, though." He smiled winningly at her. "I couldn't 've done it without ya."

Finished with the control panel, he leaned down to get his tools so he could close it. Beside him, he felt how tense T'Pol had become and began to worry that his plan wasn't going to work. After all, he had lied about sleeping well - he hadn't slept a wink since their last session, though he suspected it had more to do with the unresolved feelings he had for her than the treatments he hadn't been receiving.

Suddenly, he realized that he was playing with fire. If she truly didn't have lingering feelings for him, she would accept that he didn't need her help anymore and be out of his life with no regrets. And even if she _did_ like him, her pride might get in the way of her offering to continue neuro-pressure therapy sessions. And what if…?

Her voice interrupted his panicked musings. "Many neuro-pressure patients experience short periods of alleviated symptoms that make it seem as if the problem is cured. However, their problems soon arise again."

Trip glanced at her as he began to reattach the panel to the wall. "Are you saying that I'm not better? That I'm merely experiencing a lack of symptoms?"

"It's been known to happen."

"So what do you suggest, then?"

T'Pol waited until he had finished with the control panel and had packed up his tools before she answered him.

"I think we should continue your neuro-pressure sessions." Off of his self-satisfied smile, she quickly added, "Just to be sure that you are, in fact, cured."

"Well, if that's what you think is best…" he replied, trying his hardest not to start grinning like a schoolboy.

"It is. We should resume your treatment as soon as possible. Are you free this evening?" She palmed the PADD and once more held it out to him.

He took it, purposely touching her fingers as he did so. "Nah, I have plans with a beautiful Vulcan tonight." Then he winked at her and hauled himself up to the walkway.

T'Pol stared after him for a moment before finally leaving engineering. Trip followed her with his eyes until she was gone and then did a little happy dance behind the bulkheads.


	2. Chapter Two

**For Disclaimer et al, please see Chapter 1**

****

Turning down the lights, T'Pol checked the cabin one more time. There were a few candles lit, throwing ghostly, flickering shadows across the wall. The scent of jasmine floated from a dish of heated liquid.

Her uniform lay folded on a chair, neat, perfect. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she began meditating, preparing for what she assumed would be an awkward evening. Since she had engaged in sexual intercourse with Commander Tucker, her emotional balance had become disturbed in ways she did not understand or appreciate.

The previous morning, while running routine systems checks at her station on the bridge, she found her mind wandering - something that had never happened before. Ensign Sato had mentioned Commander Tucker's name in passing and suddenly she pictured his impish grin when he had accused her of being 'jealous' of the time he had been spending with MACO officer Amanda Cole.

That had led her to remember the sight of the Commander sitting astride a horse, cowboy hat sitting charmingly atop his head, reaching a hand out to help her mount the horse as well. Though he had encouraged her to embrace him tightly lest she lose her balance, she had been reluctant to, feeling that it was somehow inappropriate to do so.

During their neuro-pressure sessions she touched many aspects of his body; feet, back, hands, face. But for some reason, when she finally did press her body against his, the sensation of intimacy was not one she could shed. Admitting to herself that she had enjoyed the contact, though through layers of clothing and illogical in its relevance, was difficult for her.

But she had enjoyed it. And even more disturbing was her desire to seek more contact with Commander Tucker, finding logical but ultimately unnecessary reasons to assist him in engineering, joining him and other officers for meals in the mess hall, even sitting beside him during movie night and arguing the finer points of the film with him.

If she was completely honest with herself, she would say that she enjoyed his company, which is why she had selfishly but somehow rationally insisted that they continue his treatment. And if she was careful in her applications, the neuro-pressure would not be detrimental to his health, though it would not be helpful on any level other than to relieve his daily stress.

As she heard her visitor alert beep through her cabin she realized that, once again, she had allowed her mind to wander and focus on Commander Tucker. Silently reprimanding herself for her loss of focus, she gracefully rose from her place on the floor, took a deep breath, and opened her door.

* * *

All day Trip had worried over his impending meeting with T'Pol. His attention would wander from aligning the bulkheads to what he should say when he arrived at her door. 'Miss me, beautiful?' had crossed his mind, picturing himself leaning casually against the doorjamb, thumbs hitched in his waistband like some 19th century cowboy.

Or arriving a half-hour late, panting and perspiring from the frantic dash from engineering. 'I got tied up is all,' he would defend, and they'd engage in verbal sparring - their personal version of foreplay. Or it could go as per usual.

Arriving at her door a few minutes earlier than expected, a smile and a 'hello' as she courteously invited him in. Small talk about their days, stripping into his regulation blue undies, and then their hands on each other.

Yeah, that sounded about right to him.

"What are you smiling about?"

Trip whipped around to find his second in command, Lieutenant Hess, standing behind him. Her head was cocked in curious contemplation, her blonde hair tousled and her creamy skin soiled from working on the bulkheads all morning.

There had been a time when he thought Virginia Hess would be a great gal to fool around with, but now his attentions were elsewhere, on a brown-haired, brown-skinned Vulcan who was currently awaiting him in her quarters. In other words, to pull off his plan of ultimate seduction, he would have to get rid of the beautiful woman in front of him by any means possible.

"I'm smilin' cuz I've got a bit of homework for you. You're gonna take over for me here so that I won't be late for my meetin'." When she realized he wasn't going to let her in on the secret, she pouted, sticking her oh-so biteable bottom lip out just far enough to tantalize him momentarily before he remembered he was leaving Engineering for greener pastures.

"But this could take me all night to finish, Commander! You're not going to stay and help?"

He shrugged indifferently, already making his way from of his home away from home. "I know you can handle it, Ginny," he called over his shoulder before he disappeared from view.

Hess harrumphed in annoyance before turning her delectable pout away from the only man to ever resist it to a room full of men who had never tried to. "So, who wants to help me align the bulkheads?"

* * *

Now Trip stood outside T'Pol's quarters, palms sweating, hair mussed just so, wondering what in Sam Hell he was doing playing Russian roulette with his heart on the line. He sighed, shrugged, and pressed her buzzer.

If he was going to play the game, he was going to win.

Behind the door he heard movement, tantalizing him with the memory of her hungry mouth pressed against his own, the hard muscles beneath her pliant skin rippling with every sensual movement she made against him, every breath, every stroke, every moan…

And the door slid open. Wearing her pink drawstring pants and midriff top, her complexion aglow from the candlelight, and his daydream still fresh in his mind, he had to restrain himself from simply manhandling her to the bed.

This was gonna be a looong night.

* * *

She watched with interest as his eyes raked across her body - an action that left her feeling both naked and empowered. When his gaze finally met her own, his normally sky-blue eyes, now a deep azure, reflected a hunger and passion that was blossoming in her own senses.

Because she no longer trusted her own voice, she simply stepped aside in a motion of admittance, watching him carefully as he passed her and set about removing his outer clothes. The door slid shut behind them, and somehow they both knew that whatever happened now would change both their lives forever.


	3. Chapter Three

**For Disclaimer et al, please see Chapter 1**

Facing her port window, Trip slowly pulled his shirt over his head. T'Pol watched breathlessly as inch by agonizing inch his softly tanned back was revealed to her. Unconsciously she licked her lips as she took a step towards him.

"Have a seat," she whispered, voice husky with her growing desire. Casually he dropped his shirt to the floor.

"Don't you want me to take off my pants?" he asked, the humour he'd intended somehow lost as her eyes trailed down his chest and stomach, stopping abruptly at his waistline where the curves of his groin began and disappeared beneath the cloth, hinting at what lay just beneath the surface.

She frowned slightly when she realized he was removing no further clothes, before realizing that he was not here for _that_, he was here for her help.

"That won't be necessary," she answered reluctantly, her gaze drawn again to his muscular stomach and the dusting of light brown hairs that she knew travelled oh so temptingly downwards…

Her distraction allowed him to easily enter her personal space, bringing his body within a foot of her own, something she rarely allowed, and only when it was necessary. She found herself desiring to touch him, to feel his warm human body, and when she realized that her hand was hovering just above his skin, she abruptly pulled it back and recoiled towards herself.

Trip nearly growled in frustration as he watched her close herself off to him. With a sigh, he stepped away from her, immediately longing for the heat of her presence, and settled himself cross-legged on the floor.

Closing her eyes, T'Pol tried desperately to reassert control over her emotions, forcing them deep within herself and exuding the mask of calm she had so carefully developed over the years. But she could feel its ineffectiveness, the cracks in the shell of her control, and she knew it was only a matter of time before her tumultuous emotions bubbled through to the surface.

He watched smugly as she struggled to rein in her emotions. He'd only been here a few minutes and she was already nearly out of control. This was going to be easier than he thought.

"Did I come at a bad time?" he asked, a teasing smile curving his lips.

No, never, she thought to herself, but she opened her eyes and regarded him with her usual cool detachment. "Of course not," she replied, and circled around behind him.

Her hands alighted on his skin, and he let loose a gentle moan as her fingers began pressing into his sore muscles and pressure points. Slowly, the tension he'd let build in his body for the last three days was released as T'Pol skilfully played over his body.

Feels so good, his mind babbled, and he leaned his head back against her stomach. Her hands then moved down his throat to his collarbones, pushing her thumbs into the soft spot where they meet in the middle of his chest. He murmured something incomprehensible, his breath brushing across her arms as she leaned over him.

She found this position suddenly intimate, his head pillowed so close between her most intimate places, her fingers seemingly moving of their own accord down his abs and brushing his waistband. He felt her tense above him, her movements ceasing.

"Something wrong?" he asked, voice deep and husky with pleasure. When she didn't respond, Trip gently pulled away and turned to hold her by the shoulders. "T'Pol?"

"I - I don't think I can do this."

She tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but he held her firm. The frown on his face clouded over any good she had done with the neuro-pressure, and she was instantly regretful.

"You're tired," he said, sensing the sag in her energy and the weight in her limbs. "Maybe you need this more than me tonight."

"No," she began, but he was already pulling her into his lap.

"Shhh…I'll go gentle on ya, I promise."

Then his hands were in her hair, touching the pressure points on the back of her skull. A breathy gasp passed her lips before she could suppress it, and she found her body automatically softening in Trip's embrace. She placed her knees on either side of his hips, effectively straddling his waist, and had to press her palms against his chest to keep herself from falling into him.

"Feels better, don't it?" he asked. He didn't need an answer to know that she was enjoying this even more than he was. As her hands slid from his chest to his shoulders and then around his neck, his attention moved from her head to her spine and finally to the wings of her back, which he pulled on, bringing her body flush against his.

She gasped as he crushed her body to his own, all thoughts of relaxation shattering as her body hummed with need. Their temples were pressed softly together, and when she spoke, he felt her jaw moving against his own. "Commander," she spoke, in a last-ditch attempt to break whatever mood they were about to set.

"Not here, darling. Gotta call me somethin' else," he insisted.

As his hands wormed their way underneath her shirt, his hands now stroking the bare skin of her back, all thought processes seemed to shut down in her brain. _What's his name?_ she demanded of herself, but it danced just beyond the grasp of her conscience, skittering through her mind on a broken string.

If he would just stop touching her she could concentrate, bring her emotions under control and…she cried out as she felt his lips make contact with the side of her neck.

In that instant all rational thought was tossed to the side and she pushed him onto his back, her body covering his. The change in position aligned their hips so that she could feel exactly how much she was affecting him as well. She claimed his mouth in a possessive, punishing kiss, and she ground her lower body into his own.

Realizing that he was quickly losing control of the situation, he shoved her off of him. She lay there a moment, stunned by the sudden loss of contact, before he appeared above her.

T'Pol's anger ripped through to the surface. Lashing out, she tried to slap him, smack him at least, but he had anticipated it and grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. Her eyes narrowed venomously on him.

"Is that all you wanted," she demanded, "to prove that I would give in to you under enough pressure?"

"This isn't an ego trip, T'Pol. All I want is an assurance from you that if we do this, you won't try to pretend it never happened." He slid his grip from her wrists to her palms and entwined their fingers. "Cuz I am not going through that again with you. All this avoiding, walking on eggshells round each other…"

"That is a human expression," she retorted.

He rolled his eyes. "Will you just shut up a minute? I'm tryin' to talk here. Now, where was I?" After a moment's hesitation, he began placing kisses across her face and down her neck.

"This time," kiss, "we're gonna," lick, "do things," nibble, "_my _way." And then his mouth descended on her own.

* * *

Note: The next chapter is rated NC-17 and you can read it at my site. But if you're under-age or prefer not to read smut (hehe), just keep reading here - I wrote it so that chapter 4 can essentially be skipped. Wasn't that nice of me? ; ) 


	4. Chapter Five

Trip hadn't thought too much about how their 'morning after' would be, but as he accidentally rolled out of the bed reaching for the alarm clock (which was much further away than he was used to), he realized that letting spontaneity control their awakening was more interesting than anything he could have rehearsed.

T'Pol peeked over the edge of the bed looking thoroughly exhausted, until one angular eyebrow raised in silent and disguised mirth. He rolled his eyes as he crawled back into bed beside her, smiling like an idiot when she drew him into her arms.

"Mornin'," he whispered before brushing his lips against hers in a gentle hello. T'Pol suppressed a sigh of contentment as he held her as close to his body as possible.

"Good morning," she replied, threading her fingers through his hair. He chuckled and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her neck. She wriggled slightly in his grasp as she felt her body responding to his. Roaming hands squeezed her buttocks, pulling her tightly against him. _This could become a lovely habit_, she thought briefly as she allowed herself to temporarily indulge in his adoration. But her alarm had rung, and it was time to start her morning routine.

"We have to go to the briefing," she told him amid moans and gasps.

"They won't miss us," he replied, but she pushed him away.

Rising from the bed, she levelled him with one of her patented I-mean-business looks, and explained, "Though it is not inappropriate for officers of the same rank to fraternize romantically, it would be considered irresponsible for them to neglect their duties in order to indulge in their relationship."

Trip shook his head. "You always have to rationalize every- …wait, relationship?" A boyish grin spread across his features. "You mean it?"

T'Pol found herself on the verge of smiling as hope danced in his eyes, all caused by a single word passing her lips. "That is what humans call this, is it not?"

"Well," he drawled, dragging himself from the bed and into her personal space which, he noticed, she wasn't moving to increase, "that depends on what 'this' is."

Uncertainty clouded her mind for a moment before stating, "You are seeking clarification."

"Um, yeah?"

She pulled away from him and crossed the room, grabbing her bathrobe on the way. Trip ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He'd blown it - they had made a connection, she had all but admitted that experimentation was just a convenient smokescreen, and now he had pushed her too far, possibly beyond saving -

Water began running in the shower, and T'Pol appeared in the bathroom doorway, a stack of clothes in hand. "I believe it is human custom to begin keeping necessities in each other's cabins." She held the neatly piled items out to him. "Is that enough clarification, Charles?"

* * *

Captain Jonathan Archer looked up as the turbolift opened onto the bridge, admitting crewmen for their morning shifts. His chief engineer stepped off the 'lift, whistling an old Ivy League tune. Archer glanced at his watch - fifteen minutes to oh-seven-hundred, and Trip was in a good mood?

Since entering the Expanse, Archer had decided that having staff briefings every morning would help solidify the team and allow them to focus their energy productively on a day-to-day basis. However, in the several months since this ritual had begun, the captain had never seen any of his crew look as chipper as Trip looked today.

Archer greeted his best friend with a smile and a nod, which was returned enthusiastically. As Trip took his place standing at the strategy board, T'Pol arrived behind him, the communications officer fast on her heels.

Hoshi Sato kept stealing glances at Trip and T'Pol as the four bridge officers engaged in small talk. Archer couldn't help but notice the grin that persisted on her face, or the healthy glow of T'Pol's skin, or Trip's relaxed and thoroughly rested attitude and posture.

By the time Reed, Mayweather and Sergeant Hayes arrived, Jonathan Archer was a very confused Captain.

* * *

As the crew began their shifts, Archer made up an excuse to see Trip in his ready room. _Something about the warp core should get him interested_, he thought to himself.

"…I checked those readings _myself_, Cap'n - there was nothing wrong with the intake manifolds, the plasma relays or the field harmonics!"

"Relax, Commander," Jon admonished and gestured for his chief engineer to take a seat. Tucker plopped down in a chair and glared at him with a mixture of anger, confusion and petulance.

"There's nothing wrong with the warp core," Archer explained, secretly enjoying the scandalized look Trip gave him. "In fact, I hear it's above factory levels."

Trip puffed himself up a bit. "Damn straight! Hess and I've been working our team like dogs - uh, no offence to Porthos, of course."

The captain's dog looked up briefly from his comfortable spot near Jon's feet before settling into his nap once more. "Don't work them too hard, Commander," he suggested while scratching behind Porthos' ears, "or they'll sleep alllll day."

Trip's familiar chuckle, long in disuse, reminded Archer why he had tricked him to his ready room in the first place.

"Trip, we're friends, right?"

The Southern man gave him a queer look. "Best of."

The captain stood from his chair and began pacing the room. Trip shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he waited would probably be a long-winded, though heartfelt, lecture.

"To be honest, I've been worried about you." _Huh?_

"Huh?"

Archer began gesturing emphatically. "You've been working double, even triple shifts, you've been skipping dinner with T'Pol and myself in the Captain's Mess, you've arrived at briefings haggard, exhausted, and sometimes, even wearing yesterday's clothes."

Trip winced at the accurate, if disturbing, portrayal of his most recent bouts of insomnia. "But Cap'n -"

"And then today…" Archer returned to his seat, the agitation having ranted itself out. "Today, you look almost…radiant."

He noticed Trip's eyebrow raised in unconscious imitation of the resident Vulcan, and Archer decided to open this can of worms as gently as possible.

"And considering we're best friends…if there was something _important_ going on in your life, you'd tell me?"

The shy duck of Trip's head and the unbidden smile that creased his gentle features told  
Archer all he needed to know.

"Okay," he asked, as he settled forward in his seat, a posture Trip recognized from their Starfleet days as the 'secret-telling' one, "who is she?"

"No," Trip said, "I can't tell you."

Now it was Jon's turn to look scandalized. "But you just said -!"

"It's not up to just me, ya know." He rose from his chair. "I'm not even positive what it is I'm so excited about."

Trip crossed the room and paused just before opening the door. "All I can tell you, Jon, is that she's keeping some clothes in my cabin."

After his best friend had left for engineering, Archer lifted a sleepy Porthos into his lap. He had a hunch which woman it was that had stolen Trip's heart, but for her to reciprocate those feelings…this would undoubtedly plague him all day if he didn't know all the details, now.

He needed to question the most social member of the crew, someone who T'Pol had been known to confide in, someone who seemed to already know the whole story and wouldn't be shy about telling it - the captain activated his communication system. "Hoshi, can I see you in my ready room?"

THE END - except for the epilogue…


	5. Epilogue

"Charles, please calm down," T'Pol appealed. But he stormed across the room and threw a PADD against the wall, shattering it into pieces.

"I will _not_ calm down goddammit!!" Calmly she bent down and scooped the shards of glass and circuitry into her cupped palm. "How could you do that, T'Pol? You nearly got yourself killed!"

She turned her hand over a trash receptacle but found she could not raise her eyes to meet his own. Trip was right to be angry with her - Captain Archer had denied her request to continue working with the Trellium-D, unwilling to jeopardize her health - they would find another way, he promised. But she had ignored his direct order, running experiments in her off-hours, and finally modifying a shuttle pod and flying into enemy territory. If it hadn't been for Commander Tucker's ingenuity and Ensign Mayweather's superior piloting skills, T'Pol would have been captured by the Xindi. Of course, the fact that her experiment had been a success didn't seem to be winning her any favours.

"I had to do it," she tried to reason, but he was hearing none of it.

"No, T'Pol - you took unnecessary risks. We could have found another way -"

"You don't know that!" T'Pol yelled and grabbed his arms. His first instinct was to throw her off of him, but he stayed it.

"Humans are many things, but they are not precognitant. If I had obeyed the captain's orders, we would not be able to complete our mission."

Trip's jaw clenched but he forced himself to relax and drew her tightly into his embrace.

"I'm sorry for yellin', but…Jesus, I could've lost you today." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "And I don't know what I'd do without ya."

T'Pol turned her face into his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I mean, did ya even consider what could've happened to you? If the Xindi -"

"I did not intend to be caught," she interrupted, her voice slightly muffled by his uniform.

He sighed in exasperation. "But if you were? You didn't even say goodbye." Trip pulled away far enough to tilt her chin up and look in her chocolate-brown eyes. "Don't scare me like that again, darlin'."

"I won't," she whispered, just before his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that expressed all the fear and anger stored up inside him. T'Pol kissed him back with equal passion, grasping his neck and opening her mouth to his questing tongue. They stumbled towards the bed, his demanding hands already tugging at her catsuit. At the last moment, she spun him around and pushed, then straddled his lap as he was forced to sit.

She playfully nipped his jaw and wiggled suggestively. "Can I tell you a secret?" she asked as she helped him peel her clothes from her body.

"So long as it's not something bad," he replied against the silk of her skin.

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and tilted his neck back. Her tongue traced a wet path from his chest to his ear, where she stopped and whispered, "I like it when you're angry."

Then he flipped her over and showed her just how angry he was.

* * *

"This is a formal reprimand, Sub-Commander. It would go on your record, except that you aren't technically Starfleet personnel. And it doesn't matter much to the Vulcans because you don't work for them either."

T'Pol kept her back straight and eyes forward, even though the Captain's harsh words cut her deeply. The human emotions that she now permanently felt as a result of her Trellium-D poisoning made interactions with the crew far more upsetting for her when she hadn't had time to meditate - and she _definitely_ had not meditated after she had been returned to the Enterprise.

"So, what do you have to say for yourself?" Archer demanded.

"I would like to apologize," she replied, in as placating a tone as possible, "for acting rashly and in direct opposition to your orders."

The Captain nodded curtly, and gestured for her to leave. But she didn't.

"However, I would also like to point out that my experiment was a success, and we can now travel without serious accident through the Expanse."

"But at what cost!" Archer cried. He pounded his fist on his desk, making T'Pol jump ever so slightly. "You never would have flinched before," he admonished. "You've caused irreparable damage to your neural pathways, you were nearly taken captive, and you risked the lives of this crew when they had to come rescue you!"

He stepped into her personal space, but she did not react to his invasion. "You're suspended from duties until Phlox confirms you're fit to return to them. Until then, I do not want to see you _anywhere_ near engineering - you are restricted from aiding Commander Tucker and his crew in any way while they make the appropriate modifications to the systems."

T'Pol ignored protocol and looked him in the eye. "You mean -"

"Yes, T'Pol. You were right, I was wrong - we're even having a party tonight to celebrate. I expect to see you there."

She stood in front of him, dumbfounded, until he forcefully dismissed her.

* * *

"Well, don't you look a sight," Trip murmured when T'Pol opened her cabin door for him that evening.

With mild disdain, she touched the flowing skirt of her deep red dress. "Ensign Sato selected this outfit. She assured me it would be appropriate, but if it isn't, there is more than enough time to allow me to change."

He grinned at her self-consciousness. "Don't you dare - you're more than beautiful in that."

* * *

"So, how does it feel to be the cause of such celebration?" Phlox asked T'Pol as they wall-flowered together near the punchbowl.

"I believe it to be over-rated," she replied, watching the crew jive and jitterbug the night away.

Sato and Mayweather were showing off what they had learned in dance lessons over the years, and an admiring crowd had formed around them. Trip and Reed were among them, hooting and hollering and enjoying themselves, which was more than T'Pol could say for herself.

Then Trip caught her eye, grinned widely, and she suddenly found herself drawn towards him. The world practically fell away, making them feel they were the only two in the room, and when he pulled her into his arms, the dance came naturally.

The crowd around the jiving ensigns soon turned their attention to the oblivious lovebirds. Sensing a change in the mood, Captain Archer modified the computer's play list to include a set of slow songs. As the crew began pairing off, Sato and Mayweather cuddling like high school sweethearts, Cutler teaching Phlox a few 20th century dance steps, Jon couldn't help but believe this crew would make it. At that moment, he felt there was nothing they couldn't do - this crew, these people, they knew how to turn dire situations into cause for celebration.

He had never felt so proud.

"Well Captain," came a voice from his side, "it looks like you and I are the only two not dancing." Virginia Hess smiled up at him and hooked her arm with his. "Want to burn up the dance floor with me?"

Jonathan gave her one of his winning smiles. "That sounds wonderful, Lieutenant."

"Oh, no," she laughed as he spun her, "at this party you have to call me something else."

"Okay," he agreed and pulled her curvy body tightly against his own. "I'll call you Virginia if you call me Jon?"

"Make it Ginny and you've got yourself a deal, handsome."

And the Enterprise danced the night away.


End file.
